


Pri's Whumptober 2018 Collection

by Geekychic1012



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-02 06:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16299581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geekychic1012/pseuds/Geekychic1012
Summary: Angst, angst, and even more angst! Oh you gotta love Whumptober!





	1. Stabbed

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter includes an oc of mine, Jasmine.

It was supposed to be a simple mission: attack a Venatori outpost in the Western Approach for the Inquisition. There were only supposed to be maybe 5 or 6 mages and a handful of Soparati and slaves. Instead, the Chargers found a small militia and a dozen well-trained mages. It was a slaughter. Half the soldiers they had come with were already dead, the rest dying or fleeing. Krem called to retreat and they did, but the army pursed. So they split up in hopes of giving their forces a chance. 

Jasmine ran and hid in a cave, clutching her sword and shield tightly as she ducked into a large crack in the cave wall. It wasn’t a very good spot- no one could see her from outside but she couldn’t see anyone coming in until they were in the cave. Her heart pounded in her heart as panic seized her, Jasmine didn’t want to die today, not like this, not-

“ _ Vishante kaffas _ !” Jasmine heard someone whisper just outside, the voice muffled and low. She immediately guessed it was a Venatori and prayed to whatever deity would listen he wouldn’t come in the cave. But then Jasmine heard sand rustling nearby and knew he would. She prepared herself to attack as soon as she saw him; she would not die here, not without a fight. Jasmine saw the Venatori step into the cave, his back exposed to her, and without a thought Jasmine lunged forward and stabbed into the small of his back.

She heard him gasp in pain and almost grinned before the haze of fear cleared in her mind and she saw the symbol on his back-  _ the Chargers’ symbol. _ Jasmine immediately pulled her sword out on instinct, regretting it when the Charger dropped to the floor. She quickly knelt beside him and turned him over, choking back a sob as she realized who it was.

“Krem, Maker no- I’m so sorry, I didn’t- stay with me Krem,  _ please. _ ” Jasmine whispered as she pressed a hand under his back to check the bleeding, her hand coming back bloody. She cursed and was about to rip off part of her shirt to use to stem the blood flow when Krem grabbed her hand and choked out, “Jas, stop… You can’t- I’m… just hold me, p-please.”

She knew it was true, she could feel the blood pooling around her. Even if she managed to get him to a healer, nothing they did could save him. So Jasmine held Krem in her arms, pressing their foreheads together as she sobbed. Slowly, with strained effort, Krem lifted a hand to cup Jasmine’s face as he coughed, “I-it’s okay, Jas… Accident, I… kn-...ow… I-I always… lov-”

  
His hand fell away from her face and Jasmine opened her eyes to see hazy, dark ones staring emptily up at her. And she screamed, a tortured sound of lament, grief, and rage. In it was a clear message:  _ all my fault. _


	2. Bloody Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes my friend Maxxie's oc Read.

He didn’t have time to notice it until he and Hawke parted, but when they did, Anders saw it: blood on his hand. It was dried now, the dark stains caking the hand that had held the knife that- Anders shook off the thought and quickly went to fetch a pail of water. He dipped his hands in over and over, scrubbing at the stains with a cloth. But they wouldn’t come off, not entirely. Little traces of the blood lined the creases in his hands and refused to come off. A reminder of what he had done, a reminder of his failure. Anders choked out a quiet sob as this realization hit him and he tucked his hands against his chest as he curled into himself.

* * *

Blood on his hands again, this time his own. Maker knows if a Templar saw him now he’d be killed as a Maleficar. Of course, Anders wasn’t performing blood magic. He had merely gotten cut in one of the recent fights. Read, of course, noticed and came over to Anders after looting a body.

“You know, I’m no healer, but I’m pretty sure you need to put something on that.” Read said with his trademark smirk. Anders rolled his eyes, but said with a smile, “I know, Hawke.”

He used the water from his waterskin to clean the blood off, the blood dripping off his fingers and into the dirt below. Anders realized he couldn’t bandage his arm one-handed, and so turned to Read and asked, a tad embarrassed, “Hawke? Can you help me bandage my wound please?”

“Well since you asked so nicely, yes, I will.” Read chuckled, before moving to grab the bandages from Anders’s pack. He moved closer to him to wrap the cloth around Anders’s arm, and Anders couldn’t help but watch his face as he did. The eyes that reflected the grey clouds in the sky mostly held his attention until he saw them flick up to focus on him. Anders realized Read had finished wrapping his arm and was now smirking at him, and felt a blush burn its way onto his cheeks.

“Getting lost in my eyes, Anders?” Read teased. Anders huffed quietly and grumbled as he walked, “Oh shut it.”

Read merely laughed at that, and Anders smiled slightly as he looked at the bloodstained bandages on his arm.

* * *

Hot bodies mingling together, any touch sending vibrant sensations down his spine, wanting to taste Read’s skin and mark him everywhere. That’s what their first night was like, hot and passionate and slow. Anders was nipping Read’s collarbone as he left marks across his back, not even air between their bodies. Suddenly Anders felt a jolt of pleasure and bit a tad too hard, tasting the coppery flavor of blood. Read gasped in pain and Anders immediately pulled away, wincing as he saw the blood blooming in his bite mark. Familiar voices began screaming in Anders’s mind; You hurt him, how could you, you did this, just like Karl- “Anders.”

Anders refocused on the man below him, seeking Read’s eyes out in the darkness, worry and concern the only emotion there. Anders felt a throb of fondness in his heart, and quickly apologized, “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Anders, it’s fine. Just be a little more gentle with me love, I’m delicate.” Read said with a smirk. Anders giggled and pressed his forehead against Read’s as he said, “You are ridiculous, you know that?”

“You love it.” Read said before he pressed a soft kiss to Anders’s lips. Anders reciprocated it, of course, and hummed as he pulled away, “I do. And I love you.”

“And I, you.” Read whispered before they continued with their lovemaking. Later that night when Anders was wrapped in Read’s embrace, the latter asleep, Anders gazed at the mark, dried blood still on it.

* * *

 

The sound of steel clashing against steel filled the air while the smell of smoke and blood invaded Anders’s nostrils as he scanned the battlefield. Mages VS Templars and the mages were losing. Read was in the middle of it, surrounded by Templars. He was trying every spell he knew, but they were all canceled out by the Templars. Anders couldn’t move for some unseen reason, forced to remain where he was and watch as the Templars slowly advanced on his beloved.

All of a sudden, Read screamed, even though the Templars hadn’t touched him. But Anders could see, or rather sense, why Read was screaming. Then everyone saw as Read’s body mutated into that of an abomination, and a powerful one at that. Anders watched on in horror as Read slaughtered Templars and Mages alike until none were left except him and Read. Then, he turned to Anders and approached him slowly. Anders could only sob as the abomination that was once Read Hawke towered over him, his clawed hands dripping with blood as they reached up and-

“Anders! Wake up; it’s just a nightmare!” Anders heard Read shout and bolted up suddenly, drenched in sweat and shaking. Read was sitting up next to him in their bed, a look of concern on his face and his hands outstretched to comfort Anders, but hovering just over his skin. After taking several deep breaths and reassuring himself it was just a dream, Anders leaned back into Read’s embrace to allow his love to comfort him. Read held him in his arms tightly, whispering against his hair, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“... I’d rather not. Let’s just… go back to sleep.” Anders murmured. Read seemed a little disappointed by that, but merely nodded and laid down with Anders, holding him close. As he fell back asleep, Anders watched him, seeing his gentle face in the dark and swearing the Templars would not have him. No matter the cost, Anders would protect Read.

* * *

 

“Help me defend the mages.” The words shocked Anders, even after everything. He couldn’t believe that after all of this, Read would still want him. Anders stood up and asked with a hesitant smile, “You mean- stay with you? I didn’t think you’d let me. But if you do, I’ll fight the Templars. Damn right I will.”

“No!” Anders heard Sebastian scream before he suddenly found an arrow sticking out of his chest, right where his heart was. He stumbled back a step, numbly reaching up to touch the blood staining his clothes, then glanced up when he heard a bang and thud. Read stood over Sebastian, who was lying still on the ground, with the top of his staff dripping with blood. He turned around and ran to Anders right as his legs started to give out, and helped to prop him against a crate as he stammered, “D-don’t worry, we’ll- we’ll find a h-healer. You’re going t-to make it; you have to.”

Read pressed against the wound in an attempt to stop the blood flow, but Anders shakily lifted one of his hands away to intertwine their bloody fingers as he choked out, “I… l-love you… Read…”

And then, darkness.


	3. No, stop!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work features my oc Pyhra, as well as my friends JJ and Cloud's ocs Remy and Kallain.

“No, stop!” Pyhra shouted as she bolted upright in bed, caked in sweat and crying. A demon had come to her in her dreams, a powerful one, and tried to convince her to let it possess her. It had been a fear demon, torturing her until she screamed for it to stop. Thankfully, Pyhra had woken herself up, or she might have made the deal, just to stop the pain.

Deciding she needed a walk to clear her head, Pyhra grabbed her fur robe- a gift from Alistair and Kallain- and headed out onto the ramparts. She felt the cold night air blow against her face and sighed quietly, it was soothing and grounding at the same time. Pyhra closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the silence, but when she opened them again, the scenery had changed entirely.

She was still on the Keep’s ramparts, but they were now on fire, engulfed in flames completely. They were under attack! A darkspawn horde to rival the one from Denerim was attacking, already in the Keep and slaughtering the Wardens and civilians inside. Directly below her, Pyhra saw her friends: Kallain and Remy. They were surrounded and were about to be overwhelmed if someone didn't do something. 

“We can still save them Pyhra, just let me help!” A familiar voice cried from behind Pyhra. She whirled around to find Morrigan there, bound with magic-resistant chains. Pyhra didn’t know what was going on, the fear and smoke were muddling her brain, but she knew Morrigan couldn’t be here. So she backed up against the rampart and shouted, “What is this?!”

“This is an attack, fool! Now free me, please! Before they are-” A scream below cut Morrigan off, and Pyhra looked back to see Remy was down, bleeding badly from a cut in his gut. Kallain was left to protect them, but she would soon fall if something wasn’t done and quickly.

“Now, Pyhra!” Morrigan shouted. Pyhra found the key in her hand, and without thinking, she undid the chains, tossing them aside quickly. But instead of helping Remy and Kallain, Morrigan started to laugh. It was slow and quiet at first but grew into a sharp cackle soon as Morrigan’s form melted away to reveal the fear demon from earlier.

“You mortals’ ties to each other are so easy to manipulate.” It laughed cruelly. Pyhra realized what had happened and her blood went cold: she had never woken up. The demon slithered over to Pyhra and grabbed her head to force her to look up at it as it said, “Thank you, Captain. Your body will make an excellent host.”

Reports came in later that half of the Wardens in the Keep had been slaughtered that night by a powerful abomination that had once been Warden-Captain Mahariel, before being slain by Warden-Commander Theirin and Ambassador Arainai.


	4. Betrayed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features my friend JJ's oc Gabriel and my oc Lucy.

As soon as the fight was over, Lucy was running outside to find Isabela. But all she found was the corpse of Wall-Eyed Sam and a note. With shaking hands, Lucy picked up the note and read it.

_Dear Lucy,_

__ I have the relic, and I am gone. I'm sorry it has to be this way. You've been a loyal ally, more than that as well, but this is best for us both. You promised me the relic, and I know you'll fight Castillon for me, but I don't want this. I've dragged you too far into this mess already.   
  
You don't have to forgive me, but I hope you understand.

_Isabela_

Somewhere in between readings, Lucy felt her knees give out and buckle, and she fell to the rough ground without a sound. She stayed there for a moment, too shocked to do anything, then felt a hand on her back and glanced over her shoulder to see Gabe.

“... She’s gone.” Lucy whispered, before the dam broke. She curled into herself as she sobbed and Gabe knelt by her to hold her through it. It felt like her heart was shattering into a million pieces; how could Isabela leave her? Lucy knew Isabela had problems committing herself, but leaving her like this? It was just… cruel.

“I’m sorry, Lucy, but we have to move on.” Gabe said after a moment. Lucy took a second to compose herself, drying her eyes and sniffling quietly, then nodded. She stood up with Gabe’s help and together they headed off back to the mansion.

* * *

 

It had been chaos, pure chaos, but it was almost over now. They had finally reached the Arishok and were trying to reason with him, but he would not hear it. So it was war. As Lucy readied her blades, she suddenly heard commotion from outside. Suddenly a group of Qunari burst in, one carrying a large book and the two others carrying a bruised and battered- “Isabela?!”

“Hello Spunky, Hawke, everyone else. Lovely to see you here, yes?” Isabela said with a hollow smirk. She wasn’t delirious, but worse, beaten. The Qunari with the book- Lucy could only assume it was the Tome of Koslun- approached the Arishok and announced, “We found the Tome of Koslun and the thief, Arishok.”

The Arishok took the book from the soldier and looked it over before handing it back solemnly. Gabe stepped forward and asked quickly, “That’s what you need to leave, right? The book? Now that you have it, you can leave, yes?”

“... Yes, we can. With the thief.” The Arishok explained as he looked to Isabela. This caused her to shout out, “What?! Oh like hell I’m going with you. Lucy, tell him he can’t take me.”

Lucy didn’t know what to say to that, honestly. At any other point, she would have, but… Isabela had left her. She had betrayed her. This filled Lucy with rage and hurt and it was all she could think off. So, glaring down at the floor, Lucy told the Arishok, “Take her.”

“Very well. Goodbye, basalit-an.” The Arishok said as he started to walk away. The Qunari holding Isabela began to drag her along and she finally struggled, shouting, “You bastards! You haven’t seen the last of me Hawke!”

Lucy simply stared at the ground, a tear falling from her eye.

“I know.”


	5. Poisoned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst bitches! (Includes my friend JJ's oc Remy Cousland.)

The wedding was lovely, everyone had dressed to the nines and the Keep had been decorated as finely as the Royal palace, but Zevran only had eyes for his beloved. Remy looked amazing, as always, but the fine suit and jewels made him even more lovely. For once in his life, Zevran worried he didn’t look good enough. But those worries passed when he saw the look of admiration and love on Remy’s handsome face. 

After the ceremony came a banquet fit for an Antivan king, especially with the vast amount of Antivan wine they had imported. They drank and laughed and feasted, and all was good. That is, until Remy complained of a stomach pain and stood up to leave. He hadn’t taken two steps forward when he suddenly collapsed, convulsing on the floor. 

“Mi amor!” Zevran shouted before he leapt to Remy’s side, cradling him in his arms as he shook. Their companions quickly jumped into actions and Leliana knelt by Zevran, looking at Remy before she said, “He’s been poisoned!”

Zevran would have said so himself, as he could tell plain as day, but he was distracted by Remy convulsing in his arms. He cradled Remy’s face as he started to foam at the mouth and choke, whispering, “Mi caro, hold on. Please hold on. I need-”

He cut himself off when Remy stopped moving, his body going limp in Zevran’s arms. His head fell to the side and Zevran could see the light had gone out of his eyes. The world went silent and gray as he held his lover, barely hearing the shouting around him. Zevran just held Remy’s body in his arms, eventually leaning down to sob quietly against his chest, all too still now.

Eventually they had to take Remy’s body away, and the others tried to comfort Zevran to no avail. Later that night, Zevran killed himself. Poison, one of his own creation. Not even a day passed and a crow was received at the Keep, with a message attached:  _ The Antivan Crows send their regards. _


	6. Kidnapped, Torture, Friendly Fire, and Restraints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes my friends Maxxie and Cloud's ocs Mirevas Lavellan and Edric Cadash.

Multiple, colorful curses ran through Rowan mind when the haze cleared and he saw Mirevas lying limb in the now empty well. He quickly ran forward, ignoring the others as he ran to her, sliding on his knees to her side.

“Mirevas! Mirevas wake up… Dirthara-ma, lethallan.” Rowan cursed as he cradled Mirevas’s body in his arms. Then she gasped and woke up suddenly, and Rowan carefully helped her to her feet. She pushed away from him, stumbling for a moment as she looked around.

“Are you okay, Mirevas? What happened?” Rowan asked. She didn’t answer, staring down at what could only be described as magical clouds swirling by her feet. Rowan’s attention- along with everyone else’s- was drawn away when he heard a loud crash across the pavilion. He looked up to see Corypheus enter and then lock eyes with their group.

“The Eluvian,” Rowan said quickly, “Go!”

The group ran to the Eluvian, and Rowan looked over his shoulder to see Corypheus soaring towards them. He’d make it before they could close it in time, he’d get into Skyhold when it was at its most defenseless. Making a split second decision, Rowan grabbed Morrigan’s arm and told her before shoving her into the mirror, “Close it when you get through.”

Once she was gone and he was alone, Rowan turned to face Corypheus, realizing how much he had fucked up. But it was too late, Morrigan had listened and closed the portal behind her. As Corypheus landed, a sudden burst of light erupted from the well and a woman made of golden light appeared suddenly, casting her hands out to Rowan and Corypheus, blinding them both as a force knocked them back. When Rowan came to, he found himself on the ground in front of the Eluvian amid its shattered pieces, staring up at Corypheus.

Rowan didn’t notice it immediately, but he soon realized he was covered in a field of light all around his body, wrapping him tightly and seeming to protect him. He found out that last bit when Corypheus tried to use his magic on him and deflected right back in his face. Rowan let a mad little chuckle escape his lips at that but soon regretted it when Corypheus grabbed him by his throat and lifted him before slamming him hard into the ground. 

Seemed whatever the light lady did, it only somewhat stopped the physical damage. A blow like that should have cracked Rowan’s skull in two, but instead, Rowan simply felt intense pain there. Great! As darkness crept upon Rowan’s field of vision, he saw Corypheus’s Archdemon land behind him as he picked him up and dragged him along the ground. And then everything went black.

Rowan awoke to find his hands restrained above him, his body held up by chains. His head hurt like a Halla had nailed him in the temple, but it seemed the glowing shield- which still encased his body- had healed whatever wound had come from it. Or he had been unconscious long enough for the gash to heal on its own. Rowan decided to assume the prior had happened instead and looked around the cell he was being held in. 

With a gulp, Rowan realized that this must have been Corypheus’s torture chambers, based on all the horrifying devices and mechanisms, some still covered in blood or hosting a corpse or two. There was red lyrium sprouting along the walls, and Rowan hoped he hadn’t been around them too much to end up like the future versions of his friends. He tried to use his Rift powers, but it seemed that the room was suppressing the magic at the moment. That or he just couldn’t right now. Honestly, his powers were so finicky sometimes.

Resigned to the fact he’d have to escape later or wait to be rescued, Rowan continued the inspection of his cell. In the center of the room stood a single man who wore a classic executioner’s hood. That didn’t bode well. Seeing Rowan was awake, the man turned around, opened a door in the wall adjacent to Rowan, and called out, “Master Falcon, the prisoner is awake.”

Master Falcon? Sounds like a cheap imitation of Sister Nightingale, Rowan thought to himself with a quiet chuckle. His laughter died in his throat, however, when “Falcon” stepped into the room. He was a tall, lanky man, but held himself in a way that made him seem powerful instead of awkward and was draped in all black leather clothes. His eyes held no kindness, and his face was twisted into what appeared to be a permanent sneer. 

“Ah, good morning, Inquisitor Lavellan. Welcome to the lair of the beast. The dragon’s nest. The-” Falcon probably would have gone on forever if Rowan hadn’t cut him off, “Gah! Stop, it’s too much! I- oh sorry, was this not the torture part?”

“And that would be your world famous wit I’ve heard so much about. Let’s see how long that lasts. Now, here how things work Inquisitor. You tell me what I want to know, or I hurt you. I am… curious to see how much this shield protects you from.” Falcon said before he signaled to the executioner, who came forward and drew a knife.

Rowan was nervous for a moment, but the man merely sliced off his cotton shirt. They had already stripped him of his gear, leaving only simple clothes to cover him. 

“Who drank from the well?” Falcon asked. Rowan smirked at him, confident he could take some pain, and responded, “I did, can’t you tell by the glowing shield?”

Falcon actually chuckled, then grabbed a whip and held it in his hand for a moment before lashing out at Rowan’s chest. The elf bit back a yell, as that had hurt, a lot. It seemed the shield would only keep him from dying. Everything else was free game. Thanks Mythal.

“The truth, Inquisitor.” Falcon warned. Rowan laughed breathlessly and lied again, “It is the truth. I drank from the Well of Sorrows. Better me than that shem witch.”

Another lash. Rowan shouted out this time and felt skin break as the whip hit where Falcon had hit previously. Falcon glared at him for a moment, then shook his head and started to pace around Rowan. He stopped behind him, and Rowan heard him say, “I see you like being difficult. Don’t worry; we can break that out of you.”

Then a lash, and another, and another, and- Rowan screamed, unable to hold it back anymore. His back burned like fire and even though the shield was trying to heal him, it’s work was merely being undone by Falcon. After Creators only know how long, the lashes finally stopped and Falcon walked around to face Rowan before he grabbed his chin and forced his face up to look at him in the eye as he asked, “Ready to talk?”

“... As Sera would say: eat shit you arse.” Rowan said defiantly. He was shaking, however, both physically and mentally. Rowan hoped his rescue would come soon; he didn’t have much left in him. Falcon tsked softly, as if he was disappointed with a toddler, then told the executioner, “Get the chair. It seems our friend requires some more… convincing. Let’s see how long it takes you to break, Inquisitor.”

“The chair” turned out to be this fantastic wooden seat with nails sticking out of it. Rowan didn’t even want to think about sitting on it, but Falcon had other ideas. He pushed Rowan onto it, sneering with sick glee as Rowan shouted out against the pain. The nails dug into his back and hindquarters, narrowly missing his sensitive parts. Rowan tried to stand, but Falcon had the executioner tie his hands and legs down to the chair.

“Now, what are your weakness? Where is the Inquisition the weakest? What are your fears? Where do we need to hit to bring you down?” Falcon questioned as he stood over Rowan, sneering down at him. Rowan grinned through the pain and said, “Aren’t you Corypheus’s spymaster? That’s something you should know yourself.”

Falcon didn’t respond; he simply kept a damn smile on his face as he signaled to the executioner with a wave of his hand. The larger man came forward, a heavy-looking block of stone in his hands. Rowan’s eyes widened as he realized what it was for and before he could do anything about it, the executioner dropped it unceremoniously on his lap. Rowan screamed; the pain was unimaginable. He felt hundreds of razor-sharp nails dig into his skin, blood oozing out of the wounds and dripping onto the chair.

They continued this for a while, Falcon asking questions Rowan wouldn’t answer, then having the executioner place another slab of stone on his lap. Eventually, Rowan broke and started to answer Falcon seriously, but it was too late. He lied too much, had too much wit for his own good, and this was the punishment. It continued for what felt like years until one needle pierced his balls and Rowan passed out from the pain it caused.

He awoke sometime later to find he was underwater. Or rather, his head was being held underwater. The rest of him was kneeling on the cold stone floor, as far as he could tell. Rowan wasn’t really in the best mindset to be making assumptions on his whereabouts. He finally started to struggle and was pulled up by his hair roughly.

Gasping and sputtering, Rowan struggled to breathe again after being held under for so long. To his surprise- not- Falcon was there still, standing in front of the large basin. Rowan guessed the executioner was holding his head, quite roughly in fact, then turned his attention back to Falcon.

“Good evening, Inquisitor Lavellan. I hope our wake up call wasn’t too rough?” He asked with his signature sneer. Usually, Rowan would have responded sarcastically, but he was cold, broken, and tired. So he didn’t answer, earning him another dunk under the water. This time was worse, colder and longer.

They continued like this for hours, Falcon questioning Rowan and punishing him with a dip into the water when he didn’t get answers. Sometimes Rowan broke and answered him, just to get a break, before going back to silence. The water was, well, torture, the ice stinging his skin and his lungs burning for air. He couldn’t stand it.

But then, in the middle of one of Falcon’s questions, he gasped quietly before bursting into cruel laughter. Rowan was confused; what was going on? When his cackling ceased, Falcon looked down at Rowan and said, “It seems your goddess has abandoned you, elf.”

Confused, Rowan looked down to see the light shield that had been surrounding his body, protecting and healing him, was gone. Well… shit, Rowan thought, gulping before he looked back up at Falcon. The human chuckled, then said, “Hang him up, then leave the room.”

The executioner did as he was told, leaving Rowan in the first contraption he had woken up in, his arms held above him and his legs tied down. And then...nothing. Rowan waited for what felt like an eternity, starting to consider trying to escape- even though he was too broken and bloodied to do more than pass out likely- when he heard shouting coming from outside. He heard the telltale signs of a battle before the door came crashing in, a Red Templar pinned to it by an ax.

“Amatus! Kaffas, what did they do to you?” Dorian exclaimed as he rushed in, followed by Bull, Mirevas, and Edric. Rowan couldn’t speak, he was too shocked by the reality of what was happening. That and he was about to pass out from blood loss. Bull helped Dorian remove the restraints on Rowan, then he held the elf in his arms, caressing his face gently as he whispered, “Don’t worry Amatus, we’ll get you out of here. Everything is going to be fine.”

And then it all went black. Rowan awoke later to find himself in his quarters, Dorian sitting next to him in a chair. When he stirred, Dorian looked up from his book, his face breaking into a grin as he said, “You’re awake. That’s good. How do you feel, Amatus?”

“Sore… and tired… how long was I out?” Rowan asked, his usual snark and humor gone. After what he had gone through… it would take a while to recover that. Dorian frowned slightly and said, “A few days. It took a lot of magic to heal you after… everything. Vivienne said it would take a few more days to recover your strength.”

Rowan nodded numbly, then cuddled with Dorian after he climbed into their bed until he fell asleep again. A week passed, and Rowan felt back to normal, mostly. Something still felt… off, but he couldn’t figure out once. Eventually, he went back on missions with the others and encountered a patrol of Red Templars and Venatori mages.

It was a tough fight, and eventually, it seemed like they might lose. Then he heard Dorian scream from behind him and looked over his shoulder to find an arrow was protruding from his chest. They made eye contact, then Dorian fell over, dead. Rowan’s vision went red as he screamed in rage, charging one of the Venatori mages. 

The mage turned around in time to stab Rowan with the knife end of his staff, the blade digging into his gut with a burning sensation. It was most likely poisoned, but Rowan barely took notice of this when the mage pulled the staff out of him, and he felt his knees buckle. Rowan crashed to the forest, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. 

He pressed a hand to the wound, trying to stem the blood flow- Creators there was so much blood- and he suddenly felt a hand join his. Rowan’s eyes flew open to see Dorian kneeling next to him, decidedly not dead and shouting something. But he couldn’t hear thanks to the blood pounding in his ears. The pounding stopped finally, and Rowan heard Dorian choke out in between sobs, “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t- stay with me, Amatus. Please.”

Rowan couldn’t speak, he just looked around him for some clue of what was going on. He saw Dorian’s staff abandoned nearby, his blood covering the blade. A few feet away lay the corpse of a desire demon, an arrow sticking out of his chest. As the realization of what had happened dawned on him, Rowan looked up at Dorian with large, fearful eyes.

“I-I don’t want t-to die, vhenan…” Rowan stammered. Dorian started to say something, but the world began to go dark all of a sudden, so dark and cold. Creators please I don’t want to-

…

They brought his body back to Skyhold and held a traditional elvhen funeral. His clan attended, of course, and Mirevas mourned with them and Bull. Dorian mourned alone, and no one tried to stop him, knowing he needed this. He had killed his Amatus, after all. Not on purpose, of course. Inquisitor Lavellan had been controlled by a Desire Demon, likely believing he was among friends and not enemies, and attacked Inquisitors Lavellan and Cadash and their companions. The tragedy of Pavus and Lavellan would be told for millions, growing more outrageous with every telling until it was no longer true. But those in the Inquisition’s Inner Circle would forever remember the truth, and would forever pray it had never been.


End file.
